


this salt in the salt cellar

by Siria



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Community: picfor1000, Gen, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riley never asked where Jesse got the credit cards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this salt in the salt cellar

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cate for betaing. Written for picfor1000, for [this prompt](http://www.flickr.com/photos/toualee/3386459598/).

Riley never asked where Jesse got the credit cards. Several of them at any one time, replaced once they hit their limit, a different name on each—their origin was less interesting than what they could buy. New clothes, a suite in an upscale hotel with a view of real trees and sunlight that was warm on Riley's skin, hot water and shoes that fit, trips to a dentist and a drug store—but best of all, food.

Riley hadn't known what it was like to have a full stomach before Jesse. Every now and then, someone had tried to persuade plants to take root in the thin soil of the tunnels, but weak light and slow-leaching radiation meant any surviving crop was meagre and anaemic-looking. Beside those tiny potatoes, the bitter herbs, Riley had to make do with rations like everyone else—scrabbling for dented cans so old they had lost their labels and could be anything from pineapple in syrup to cold vegetable soup.

"Making up for lost time, eh?" Jesse said with a smirk when she let Riley order room service. The porter who brought up the trolley looked bemused to find only two people in the room, but it wasn't Riley's fault—the menu had been full of things she'd never even heard of before, and who could blame her for wanting to make the most of this while it lasted?

There was a salad, crisp greens crunching against her teeth; fries, golden and salty; two kinds of pasta; a steaming bowl of miso soup; a fluffy mound of rice topped with vegetables; thick-cut sandwiches; pastries that melted air-light on her tongue; bowls of fruit salad; sweet-sticky cakes and ice cream that tasted impossibly rich and creamy.

Mostly, though, she'd ordered meat—meat that wasn't sinewy, tough rat roasted over an inadequate flame. Judgement Day hadn't quite managed to get rid of all the humans within a hundred mile radius of LA, but between the radiation and a sudden lack of human interest in farming, southern California was pretty devoid of livestock. One call to hotel reception, however, got Riley everything she'd heard of but never tasted—bratwurst and bacon; cheeseburgers in floury buns; thick slabs of steak; fried chicken and pork dumplings and ribs. The smell made Riley's stomach growl and her mouth water; the only reason she didn't flush red when Jesse laughed was because she was sure Jesse had done the same thing when she'd first arrived: sat cross-legged on the floor with a cheeseburger in her hands, taking enormous bites because there was so much of it and it was delicious and there was always the nagging fear that it would be gone before she could finish it.

"It's good," she mumbled around her mouthful of food.

From her vantage point on the bed, Jesse quirked an eyebrow at her. "Apparently." She'd kicked off her shoes and socks and was leafing through a magazine. The pages were glossy, bright, full of people and things Riley had never heard of. She squinted to read a headline—_Meet the Real Housewives!_—and blinked. Was there a fake kind? More for her to learn before she started at the school. She was lucky she was one of the kids who'd scrabbled her way into a basic knowledge of reading and writing. This would be a lot more difficult, otherwise.

Jesse would probably never have picked her, otherwise.

The burger suddenly felt leaden in her stomach, but Riley made herself take another bite before she picked up a piece of the chicken. "You want some?"

"I'm good, thanks." Jesse didn't look up from her reading. She had a bowl of pomegranate seeds at her side, picking at them occasionally. Riley wondered if she'd ever be like that: able to relax, clean hair haloed behind her on a pillow, and ignore the presence of so much food in the same room as her.

Riley chewed on some bacon for a while, relishing the crisp saltiness in her mouth, before reaching for a bowl of pasta. She was aware that she was full, her stomach pressing against the waistband of her new jeans, but the sensation was so unfamiliar, so _satisfying_, that she kept eating. She wanted to feel more of it, to know what it was like to be a girl who lived like this: clean and warm, no tangles or head lice, with a full belly and the prospect of a safe place to sleep at night.

"You'll make yourself sick," Jesse said, flicking to a new page. "I'm not going to clean it up."

Riley stared at her for a moment before shovelling another spoonful of pasta into her mouth. It was impossible to imagine how food like this could make her sick. This wasn't a soup made by boiling greenish potato skins, or an attempt to quiet a stomach's hunger-sharp pangs by chewing on a handful of grasses—it tasted fresh and new on her tongue, full of flavours that the menu told her were tomato and garlic and basil. "I'll be okay," she said after she swallowed, eyeing the mound of food still left. She'd probably have to leave the soups, but surely she'd be able to find a way to wrap up most of it and bring it with her—just in case there wouldn't be enough wherever she was going.

"Your call," Jesse said.

"I'll be fine," Riley said, and bowed her head over the bowl.

Later, on her knees in front of the toilet, her hair falling loose around her face, she heard Jesse at the door—making small talk with the porter and slipping him a couple of dollars when he came to take away the trolley with the remainder of the food on it.

"Wasn't as hungry as she thought," Jesse said. Riley felt another spasm grip her stomach and leaned forward to rest her forehead against the cool porcelain. The tears, when they came, were a relief.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/239943) by [Siria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria)




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